Sa-heon’s habit of interpreting things however he wanted left Seo-eul glaring hard enough to burn holes through him, but it was useless. Sa-heon was clearly doing it on purpose. Even when Seo-eul grabbed his wrist, the result didn’t change. His tone might have sounded sweet as sugar, but the hands shoving Seo-eul back inside the house had zero mercy. Seo-eul had no choice but to avert his gaze.Thankfully, his eyes met PD Jeon’s not far away.Of all people, she was quick-witted enough to understand what he was thinking. Seo-eul blinked desperately at her.Please stop him.And listen to me for once.Even with his cheeks still pinched between Sa-heon’s fingers, Seo-eul managed to convey everything through his expression alone. A true national actor indeed—he could turn even this ridiculous situation into a cinematic still shot.But no matter how intensely he sent that telepathic plea...“Right, Seo-eul. You stay inside, we’ll just pop out for a bit~”Yeah right. PD Jeon, just like Sa-heon, had no intention of listening to a word he said. Smiling radiantly, she waved at them. The picture of innocence, completely oblivious to the disaster about to unfold. Seo-eul blinked again, even harder.I’m not worried about him, I’m worried about you people…!He wasn’t worried about Sa-heon at all. It was the staff he feared for.He could already guess what this was: they must’ve seen the questionnaire where he’d written “morning jogging” and built the event around that. The Corn Run was one of Seoul’s most famous 10 km circular courses, beloved by hardcore runners. Getting into the ranking zone there was notoriously brutal. The production’s “vision,” no doubt, was a gasping, exhausted Seo Sa-heon making a few pitiful laps.But that’s because they didn’t know him.Seo-eul, who had memorized Sa-heon’s unofficial records from the rare times he ran for fun, wanted to stop this no matter what.That course didn’t even allow bicycles.And to make things worse, it had an uphill section.Which meant the staff and the VJ assigned to Sa-heon would have to literally run the whole thing on foot. There was no question who would die first. Seo-eul figured it would be less cruel if he just did it himself.“Mmff…!”He tried everything he could to express that, but it was pointless. In the end, he was dragged back inside by Sa-heon, limp with exhaustion. There was no defeating someone built like a wall. Deciding it was a waste of energy to resist further, he slumped down, and then that soft voice rained down from above.“I’ll be back.”“……”“Don’t come out. Just wait.”Even the casual “It’s getting hot already,” sounded far too gentle.If this weren’t such a situation, Seo-eul might have nodded without thinking.Seeing Sa-heon’s oddly cheerful expression made him hesitate. Maybe he was worrying for nothing?Sure, Sa-heon could be reckless, but he was still an entertainer. He wouldn’t do anything too insane while cameras were rolling… right? And if people around him struggled, he’d probably ease up on his own. Seo-eul’s face softened—he always had a habit of giving Sa-heon the benefit of the doubt.Yeah. Probably nothing to worry about.Once he convinced himself, guilt pricked him for doubting the man at all. When Sa-heon released his cheek and stepped back, Seo-eul stayed quiet. Watching his retreating steps, he realized he hadn’t said goodbye. He lifted his head just in time to——see it.The door closing fast.And between that narrowing crack—Seo Sa-heon’s devilish grin.***They came back exactly two hours later.Seo-eul, who’d been pacing restlessly around the house, practically flew down the stairs the moment the door lock beeped open.Sa-heon, stepping in, raised one eyebrow at the sight. He didn’t say it, but Seo-eul could almost hear the familiar “You’ll trip.” Yet that wasn’t what mattered. Instead of asking if he was okay, Seo-eul rushed past him and yanked the half-closed door open.And froze.“What the—huff, huff.”“W-we’re… here…”“Uugh—”The scene before him was a massacre. In just two hours, the entire staff had been reduced to sweat-soaked wrecks strewn across the entryway. Nearly half were missing—probably collapsed somewhere along the course. Seo-eul stared, speechless, at the survivors gasping for air.He had feared this. And still, seeing it in person—That lunatic actually ran for real.“Are you okay?”The one in the worst shape was a male staff member sprawled on the floor. Even without asking, Seo-eul could tell he was Sa-heon’s assigned VJ. The man’s face was ghostly pale, but he still clutched his camera like it was his lifeline. The dedication was almost moving.But you couldn’t keep your job if you dropped dead.After confirming the man could barely respond, Seo-eul hurried inside, saying, “Wait just a second.”He returned with his arms full.“I thought cold drinks might # Nоvеlight # shock your stomach, so I brought these instead…”Sports drinks at room temperature, cooling patches, and individually wrapped chocolate bars. He handed out the cans one by one and personally pressed the patches to flushed faces. He even invited them to come rest inside if they wanted, apologizing over and over despite having done absolutely nothing wrong.Maybe it was because they were half-dead, or maybe because kindness hit harder when you were weak, but the staff melted under his concern. Sure, he was known to be polite and mild-mannered, but experiencing it firsthand was a whole other level. There was a subtle distance in him too—gentle but guarded—that made it strangely endearing.Was this what it felt like when a wary house cat rubbed its head against your leg? None of them realized they were collectively growing attached in that moment. Tilting his head slightly, Seo-eul asked softly,“So… what exactly happened out there?”“……”At those words, the memories they’d tried to bury surged back up.Speaking about it wasn’t hard—too much had burned itself into their minds.“Wait, wait—sir, you have to come with us…!”Thinking back, that’s where it all went wrong.They were supposed to drive to the starting point—the Running Station. But as soon as they stepped out the main door, Sa-heon started running. They’d barely had time to react before chaos broke loose.Leaving behind a single word—“Going.”—he took off at an impossible speed. By the time the stunned crew scrambled after him, the gap had already widened. Was he serious? There were still ten kilometers left—why waste energy already?Well, maybe he was warming up, they thought. The man did list jogging as a hobby.At least they still had the car then, so they caught up quickly.The real nightmare began once they entered the Corn Run course.Vehicles weren’t allowed. The crew had to get out and go on foot, carrying gear. Before they could even set up, Sa-heon had scanned the QR code at the start line and bolted. PD Jeon herself had shouted “Sa-heon, wait—!” but he was already too far to hear.That insane bastard!There was no stopping him. They couldn’t even hand him the camera. Realizing that missing this footage meant losing the entire scene, the staff sprinted after him like their lives depended on it.From there, it became a death march.Especially for the VJ—once a self-proclaimed “runner in his youth”—who now questioned every life choice.Was that human speed?He’d been running nonstop since the house!Forget top 10; this man belonged in a championship. There was no other explanation. They could only grit their teeth and chase.Then, abruptly, Sa-heon stopped.The finish line was less than a kilometer away.“The server’s acting weird,” he’d said.What? Gasping for air, the VJ staggered closer—and saw the timer on Sa-heon’s phone frozen. It wasn’t counting anymore. A chill crawled down his spine. The running app suddenly crashed.No… no way. It had to be a glitch. He’d restart it and the record would come back, right?But when Sa-heon tapped the screen again, his face changed slightly. He turned the phone toward them.All data—gone. The record reset to zero.A scream broke out.“N-no, no—!”“I’ll do it again.”It was a nightmare.It couldn’t be real. But reality didn’t care. After a few steadying breaths, Sa-heon took off again.The VJ’s legs moved reflexively, dread flooding him as he realized he’d have to run the entire course again.Word spread fast. For the staff still dragging themselves along behind, and even for PD Jeon waiting at the finish line, it was nothing short of catastrophic.At that point, everyone shared one desperate prayer:Complain. Please, for the love of God, just complain!Lie down, say it’s unfair, refuse to go on—anything! If he had even protested, they would’ve let it slide.But instead, Seo Sa-heon returned to the starting point, expression blank, and scanned the QR code again.He was actually going to run another 10 km.He had to be insane.

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